The Lost Chronicle
by chronofall
Summary: Seven years have passed, and almost nothing has changed for our favorite group from Danville. But when a sinister being threatens all they hold dear, they may find themselves racing through two worlds to face this threat... and deal with their inner demons in the process. Prologue up! First fanfic - easy on flames, please. T for violence.


_**The Lost Chronicle: Prologue**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story. Just pray for the good of platypuses... platypi... platy...whatever that it stays that way...**_

* * *

A green-skinned figure was reporting his recent victories to his superior, a red-skinned brute who had patience for little more than the battlefield. Nevertheless, this "brute" was the leader, better known to his followers as the warchief, of the Horde. Warchief Garrosh Hellscream listened with great interest as General Nazgrim continued his report, particularly when a mention of the enemy's royal flagship was made.

"… We chased the royal flagship until it ran aground-"

"Aground? Where?" the warchief interrupted, beginning to advance toward the other. What was so unexpected to Garrosh was the fact that there wasn't _any_ land south of the Maelstrom… right?

Nazgrim resumed, "Apparently, they found a massive, uncharted landmass, shrouded by dense mists." He finished with almost a tone of wonder at this discovery. Garrosh, on the other hand, was not in the least entertained.

"And _you _let the Alliance get there FIRST?!" he roared, startling the general with his outburst. "Redirect the invasion fleet! General, you and your best veterans will pave our way." He turned to face the map; focusing his attention on the marker for the flagship, "Storm the shore, and paint this new continent RED!" the warchief emphasized his order by forcefully stomping on the marker, crushing it to pieces with no effort.

* * *

Across the Great Sea, another set of figures were gathered to discuss recent events as well, though the matter at hand greatly worried the one receiving the news: King Varian Wrynn. Unlike most kings, this one was always more than willing to take action or directly oversee it himself, without taking any (or at least trying not to) unnecessary risks.

"Over 200 ships at my disposal, and yet the one carrying my son GOES MISSING!" Varian slammed his fist down in frustration, scattering several ship markers in the process. "What of their last message? Show me whatever you have."

The purple elf standing beside him nodded in acknowledgement before activating the missing admiral's transmission. Though garbled at times, Admiral Taylor's voice came through.

_ "We have been drawn off-course… Horde air fleet… many casualties… Shipwrecked – on an uncharted isle, but the White Pawn is accounted for. Repeat; the White Pawn is safe…"_

"Anduin…" the king's expression softened out of relief from this news, only to be alerted once more by the suddenly distraught voice.

_ "SURPRISE ATTACK! Requesting immediate..! If anyone's receive-!" _The message cut off, leaving Varian in brief silence.

Having listened to the transmission in silence, the grand admiral began to speak, "Sir, the 7th fleet has already been dispatched, but it could take weeks before it-"

"There's no time to waste," Varian interjected, determined to save his boy, "We'll send in a small, elite force to secure this new land, and BRING BACK MY SON."

* * *

"Now do you see, master? The petty conflict between these two factions over this 'new land' will result in the mass generation of untold power," a haggard yet obedient servant presented to his master.

"Yes, yes it will. But countless 'heroes' will undoubtedly band together to save their precious home."

The servile being paused to briefly contemplate the dilemma at hand. "But with such raw power, you could crush them all with but a mere whisper!"

His blindfolded master was not yet convinced. "Something of this magnitude must be handled with discretion and utmost subtlety to ensure absolute dominance – and I know just whom to employ."

"There are plenty of subjects on that world more than willing to serve for the promise of-"

"And yet there are others who will prove more useful than this world's vermin." He spat in disgust of Azeroth's inhabitants.

His servant frowned, "Such as?"

In response, the blindfolded being outstretched an arm and waved it off to his side. Suddenly, and image filled the dark room, causing the servant to shield his eyes until they adjusted to the almost _sickening_ brightness. As the image came into focus, a city began to form, the servant stared in puzzlement as to what could possibly have drawn his master's attention here.

Before the servant could speak, out of nowhere, a red blur raced across the image, quite audibly with a symphony of screams on what appeared to be a makeshift railway encompassing the entire urban area. As if the scene couldn't get any stranger, the railway was hoisted into the air by a helicopter with a comically enormous magnet. One also could have sworn hearing something about cursing a monotreme…

Completely dumbfounded, the igor exclaimed, "_What _in the name of-!"

"This was seven years ago, servant. It should be suffice to say that the contraption's creators and their friends need but a nudge to fulfill their part in my agenda. All we need is a puppet to draw them in…"

* * *

_**chronofall: So how was it for a prologue? And who the heck is the guy with the blindfold?**_

_**Blindfold Guy: *grumbles***_

_**chronofall: Yeesh, lighten up... anyway hope you enjoyed this little intro to the story. Reviews appreciated!**_


End file.
